


Hope Cannot Warm the Hands

by misplacedkisses



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, bro!cuddling for survival, tuor's a little sassy when he's freezing, ulmo's just mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:04:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misplacedkisses/pseuds/misplacedkisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tuor and Voronwe muse on destiny on the road to Gondolin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Cannot Warm the Hands

“You may feel only nips, but the sting of this bitter wind bites at the children of men,” Tuor said, pulling the cloak of Ulmo tighter about himself.

“Yes, I am not in danger, though this swift and harsh winter may strike me down yet.” Voronwe did not mince his words, but his honesty seldom dampened Tuor’s spirit.

All the same, that spirit was flagging. The country was barren and full of spying eyes. He could not remember the last time he ate, nor wanted to for their supply of waybread was dwindling. His back ached with the tension of suppressed shudders.

Voronwe would, most nights, slip into memories or else keep watch, utterly still. Tonight, however, he paced. The enemy would be hard put to hear him, even as he covered again and again the small space of their hide-out. Tuor knew if only he would close his eyes, the elf would fade out of his sense, so silent was he. But he could not and Voronwe’s agitation was oppressive.

“Something weighs on your heart, my friend,” Tuor ventured, for he knew better than to let irritation fester in his weary mind.

“I feel a storm,” came the curt reply.

After a few beats of silence, deadpan, “Yes, I can see that.” Voronwe stopped, stiff, fixed at the mouth of the cave. So Tuor backtracked a bit,  
“Is a storm coming, do you mean?”

“We may be snowed in.” And Voronwe resumed his pacing.

A proper shudder wracked his body at that and Tuor wondered if he might convince the elf to let them have a fire. Unlikely, but at least he would need to sleep. And in order to sleep, he would have to stop this damnable pacing.

“That, I know, weighs more heavily upon my heart than yours. It is not this storm that has you pacing so.”

Voronwe paused again and sighed. He turned and looked down into Tuor’s eyes, “No, no it is not.” He resumed pacing.

Tuor could not stifle his sigh, though he knew it was insensitive.

“I was seven years at sea with them, and the flowers of Gondolin are not wont to wither.”

“And yet you will see another spring, even as you once did!”

“I do not believe I will have leave to tarry in the willow trees again.”

“Maybe, but you will show me the bloom of Gondolin, will you not? You would have me believe the city beautiful even in the wastes of this fell winter.”

Voronwe stopped and put a hand to the cave wall, “Yes, I would. That is my fate, and yet I wonder what hope you can bring in these dark times.”

“I wonder so myself, but it does not do well to question the foretellings of the Lord of Waters.” Tuor paused and then, wracked by another shiver, added, “And if I should die along the way, all your wondering will be for naught.”

“No, we must ever heed the Powers that remember us still kindly.” Voronwe surveyed him, huddled against the back wall, “Are you so cold?” Tuor could not but level him a look.

“Hope cannot warm the hands, my friend.”

“And I believe it will get colder in the night.” Voronwe contemplated him a moment, then strode forward. He crouched and began to pluck at the cloak, but Tuor made a small sound of outrage and clutched the cloak tighter about himself.

“It will get colder and yet you intend to let the air into the heart of me!”

Voronwe sighed as would a father over a misguided and stubborn child. He laid his hands on the cloak again and said, “You will keep out the warmth as well if you do not let me in.”

“Oh!”

And so Tuor relented and opened a space for Voronwe. Warmth radiated off the elf and Tuor could not help but pull that warmth in closer.

“Yes, we could not have this journey be all for naught, though we still have to pass the gates.”

Tuor sighed and mumbled, “Can you tell me you did not feel the cold at all?”

“No, you are right. This is more... comfortable,” and he finally relaxed back against Tuor’s chest.

Tuor pressed his nose into the elf’s warm neck and laughed at the little huff he got in response. But even as the feeling prickled back into his fingers, he could not sleep.

“My hurts have been healed as they may, but what ails you, my friend? You are agitated.”

“I feel my soul is still lost at sea in that storm.” Voronwe sighed and looked away from the storm picking up outside the cave, “And yet I feel I must be grateful for Ulmo’s mercy and choice.”

“Aye, you are not the only one with heart torn between the sea and the promise of Gondolin. I hear the waves crashing in my soul and yet my heart reaches ever out to Turgon though I know not to what purpose. I feel that the end of things as they are draws near, and I cannot but feel hope. I know not whither, but spring awaits you somewhere, my friend. Spring and the Sea.”

Voronwe tipped his head back onto Tuor’s shoulder and he mused, “Perhaps you are right. The stars will chase away the blackness again someday. But sleep now and I shall keep a watchful night.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of an additional scene in the story as it's presented in The Unfinished Tales.
> 
> If you want to be friends on tumblr, [this is me!](http://mammawidow.tumblr.com/)


End file.
